ORIGIN

Vargas listened, quiet. Unthinkable, maybe, in ages past: for the Leviathan to listen, truly attentive and thoughtful, to a philosophical and emotional speech and to truly give it consideration.

And--ahhh--it was heartbreaking.

For Zoey had come to some conclusions, and he knew the answer to her questions--in fact, had given them to others, Onyx-Three among them--but to answer that rhetorical would be terribly cruel. Possibly devastating.

Still... he had asked a question, and Zoey had answered, and so now--oblivious to the irony--he danced delicately around that single topic to speak on the others, instead. "I believe," he said at last, with gentle humor, "that you may prove the better gardener than I. But," he went on, studying her, "I am glad that you are." Because the alternative, it seemed, was to collapse. To find no purpose. To succumb to purposelessness and misery and rage, as so many of them seemed to do.

Zoey-... she was earnest. She had found some purpose, some meaning, and she believed in it and who the hell would he be to destroy that? A monster in truth, that was who. That was what.

So he sandwiched the answer in, not an answer but an offer of one, because half of him was too honest and straightforward to lie even by omission; but the other half hoped she would not ask, that she would let it slide away because he did not want to give her that, not really. Let her keep her ignorance; let her keep her innocence.

"As to your question of fears... desires. I know the answer to that question," he offered quietly, "if you wish it. But its answer does not change the meaning that you find in things. Because whatever that answer is it does not give meaning; even if we are nothing but machines--as you put it--that would never dictate what we value. If you find value--for yourself; for all life--in the connections that we make with others?" Vargas paused, mulling his phrasing over, because this was most certainly beyond his usual conversation. He was out of his depth, struggling to stay afloat, let alone to swim. "Then that is... good. Good that you find reward in what you do," he went on, rallying a little, because this was like 'work' and work was familiar. "Good that you find... fulfillment." Ahh, awkward.

He'd very nearly blurted something about the meaning she found being just as meaningful as any other, and would've meant it in a good way but clammed up just in time as he realized how it might sound: accidentally dismissive. But what else could he say? She had offered near-poetry, a philosophical beauty rooted in stars, and all Vargas could say was "glad you enjoy your work."

He felt... clumsy, stumbling, in a way he did not usually feel. Awkward and off-balance compared to her grace with words and her acceptance of her own emotions. And he, in trying to be supportive of his grandchild--he was offering what?

And what could Vargas say to assure her that he... if not understood, was trying? Would remember what she said? Just that, he thought at once. That her words will not go forgotten. That they have value. "You speak," he tried, testing the words with caution, "with the wisdom of an ancient. I will bear what you say in mind," and would that be enough-? "Thank you."

He tried, in his infinite wisdom, to reach out.

To curl a magic hand beyond Zoey's stone facade, and sense what lay beyond. To use the gift she had given him and learn from this experience.

Instead, that magic refused him now. And beyond that, it curled back, a threading sense of doubt and unease infiltrating as though with sinister intent. It twisted through him, then became a white-hot surge of rage; then terror, and then horror so deep it seemed to plunge his limbs into ice.

It took him a moment to realize it was the item, the spell, that had failed. That Zoey's mind was not so chaotic a pot of boiling emotions. It took him longer still to regain control, to take a breath and force his mind above that drowning pit of overwhelming feelings, to bring himself back to the here and now.

He did not know how much of it had been obvious. He heard what she had said, and almost retroactively he registered her words, considered them, hastening to find an answer. That consisted of a hurried nod, though his voice, at least, seemed less distracted. "Someone's words are meaningless if their actions do not match those. Not," he added, trying to claw back some humor, "that this is what you meant. But actions mean far more; words are meaningless without them. Sometimes, anyway. So I suppose it makes sense that those actions are more meaningful."

Another deep breath led to a long sigh--not exasperation, but thoughtfulness--at her question. He looked off into the distance.

He was not--and it would likely be obvious--seeking some lie, or way to sugarcoat things. He was simply thinking on his phrasing. And his initial answer came as though he were still thinking; an indication that he wasn't done right away, not at first. "No one 'gave' me an answer." That pause, then, thick with thought; and then: "I do not know if I can describe to you the possibilities inherent in a life as long as mine. It is possible with enough thought and experience to learn the nature of most things! -Does that sound arrogant? It is true. It is also true that perspective matters," and almost, almost, he accidentally mentioned Lord Dhracia. How--of all people--she did not share his.

He stopped himself in time.

"Not everyone would agree with my conclusions after my answer. But it is the sort of thing that... when you know it, it explains a great deal. Perhaps it would help you, in understanding others," he added, almost indifferently. "But also, maybe not. You hold more empathy than I do; my understanding--my answer--comes from logic. I can tell you why a creature acts the way it does, in the most basic sense, and I would be right. I cannot gives answers to all such things. I've seen idiots with self-destructive tendencies that made no sense, but I've no doubt there are logical reasons. I'm just not omniscient," he added, amused. "But the point I am making is that I know the 'why,' but I do not experience it. I do not know it--truly know it--the way your kind do. Those not simply patterned from some design. Your history--your very being--is of a different essence than mine is." He said this without judgment: neither against himself, nor Zoey. He said it as one might compare air to water. There was no value given. It was explanatory, and little more. "If I gave you my answer, I would be teaching you some of my perspective. It is as I am learning some of yours!"

Vargas wasn't suggesting it. His tone did not indicate that he was; but he was honest, as ever.

It was just that, between the complex topic and sophisticated backfire of his magic, his words had gotten a little tangled along the way. He felt he wasn't really being as clear as he had been before.

But then... dancing around a topic without actually addressing it left little room for clarity.

Vargas grinned, briefly, as a thought occurred to him. Or... "grinned" was a strong word; his rigid face twitched slightly at the corners of his mouth, his jaw parting slightly so that the chartreuse glow gleamed between jagged teeth. His gaze held humor, anyway. "This would be a conversation best had in Pegasus, I think. sitting in the meadow, staring out at the herds of deer. But I won't make you march. You'll have to imagine it," he added, with a short, rare laugh. "But do imagine it." He became more serious, then.

The "smile," such as it was, faded. "You ask why you desire, or fear. There is a difference between those created and those not. Life springs up--how is not the question--but it is left to fend for itself across many worlds. Even here. Think of those deer, and know they were left for centuries without tending, culling. They were larger, in my era. Why is that? Now imagine entire worlds-... Mindless, wild beasts roaming. Think of the deer eating grass, predators eating them, none of them creations with specific purpose. Or if there is a purpose, no custodians to keep them on that path. You have watched those deer, in Pegasus--yes? They protect their young. They fight danger, or flee when it is too great. Ask yourself simply: what would happen if they did not fear?" He paused, studying Zoey.

He left space for an answer.

Then he spoke again. "If you have a hundred of these beasts, these deer, and you set them free in a place where the hounds will eat them... the hounds catch and eat the slowest. Among the deer, the fastest and sharpest will survive. The herd is strengthened, faster as a whole. The swift live another day, while the slow perish. The next generation is faster for it. What has fear to do with this? I repeat: what would happen if they did not fear, did not flee to begin with..? Those that fear, survive. These threats change life itself, over time. It gives life its shape, inside and out! The Meadow Deer were larger in my time because we hunted them. Without that danger, the smallest were no longer killed, and they have... shrunken."

He shrugged, a little. "If they lost their fear completely, they would all die. Fear keeps you alive, Zoey. It stops a beast from walking into fire or an enemy's jaws. It... developed, over time. It exists because it sprang up, and those without it fell away, leaving only those who did. What is created here is a mirror of those things, but my creators had little reason to imbue me with fear, with mercy. You-? You are descended from creatures wild in the fields. You are different. Orthoclase-Alpha is different. Or rather... I am different, from all of you, all of the Gembounds of this era."

That "smile," again, but fainter this time, and he went on, relentless in his gentle words. "Love... what would a herd of deer be without it-? The mothers, abandoning their young? The herds wandering, losing that strength in numbers--but for fear, maybe! And among the hounds that hunt them? The same; mates wandering off without a care... It is a social bonding. A thing that keeps them together, yes, but alive, so the next generation can thrive! Living 'machines,' as you say." He considered, then emphatically shook his head. "That does not make it meaningless. All meaning is only what you find in a thing." This seemed, perhaps, oddly philosophical from the Leviathan, but so was this entire conversation.

"The point I am trying--poorly, I think--to make, is that over timespans inconceivable to you or I, living beings change. The strong live. Those who adapt survive. Those who love, fear, who grow angry to defend what's theirs, who grow curious and learn new things... I have said survival is all that matters. This is truth. Fear is survival; love is survival. I do not think love is weakness, or some lie told by a machine mind. Allowing it to control your actions, to overwhelm logic, is. And either way it isn't necessary for those like me, created to Oversee. It was necessary for the deer, the hound--for your ancestors. In a nest of Chaos it can be... problematic, but so long as you understand it--where it is coming from, and its purpose--and do not let it control you, it is as useful and... valuable, as speed, strength or cunning."

He gestured to Zoey, claws unfurling. "Knowing this can help you understand others. -Is all of this troubling to you? Maybe you don't believe it? Or you do... but remember, why we feel things does not change that we do feel them. As I have said several times in the past few minutes--and I say again for emphasis!--meaning is what you assign to a thing. Perhaps knowing all of this of emotions, you are better equipped to help others who are lost in them."

He had no idea how she'd react. He feared it. Would she recoil? Would she think things over, as was her wont, thoughtful and careful? Was this already too tense a moment, too fraught with feeling, enough to ironically tangle her in all of it?

"If I may extend your patience a little further..." He had spoken much. He had over spoken, trampled over anything she might have said, but this... this was important. "You spoke of connections, yes? Of that uncountable number of beings with all our little connections. When I say that your feelings are only something that has sprung up when the rest is peeled away by brutal survival--in my eyes, that makes what you have said even more... valuable. Precious. Those connections, I mean. Those million little lives have come into being on their own, and the connections you are forging against all odds, despite the universe having no plans for such a thing... they are purely yours. That web you describe is something new, in the grand scheme of things. Something you are making for yourselves."

He'd rambled far too long. He'd circled his point, and gotten to it poorly, but he couldn't go back now and rephrase it all; he just hoped she understood. And that his words did not terribly upset her.